


and I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me

by illuminatedcities



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shaving, Shaving Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminatedcities/pseuds/illuminatedcities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harold," John says, a little strained. </p><p>"Is something the matter, John?" Harold asks. He turns John's head to the side, letting the razor smooth down his skin in even, slow movements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).



> Title from Halsey's "Is There Somewhere?"

"When was the last time you shaved?" Harold asks. The typing sounds don't even slow down a fraction, like his hands are working independently from his brain.

John finishes cleaning his gun, lets the bolt slide home and sets it down. His hand comes up to touch his chin. "Two or three days ago?" He says. He honestly doesn't remember. 

Harold stops typing and turns around in his chair. "I tied up the last of the loose ends for this number, I'd suggest we go home."

John smiles at the phrasing: Harold taking him back to his place, or rather, the place of one of his identities, is still new enough that it makes his heart rate pick up. "Sounds good," John says. 

When John closes the door behind him, the first thing Harold says is "Get undressed and get under the shower, please.", and that is even better. John takes off his jacket and undoes his buttons with quick efficiency, shedding articles of clothing as he goes. If Harold makes a point to pick up after him, he waits until John is gone. 

John is adjusting the heat when the door of the shower slides open. Their views on the ideal shower temperature are different, Harold prefers pleasantly hot while referring to John's favorite temperature as "scalding hot, probably enough to boil a lobster". Harold gets in and wraps his arms around John, and John sighs.

They stand under the spray for a moment, before Harold nudges John to turn around. Harold pulls him close for a kiss, the slide of water-slick skin getting John from half hard to fully aroused in moments. Harold pulls back and smirks, then he takes a can of shaving cream and a razor from the basket attached to the wall and turns off the water. 

"I'm perfectly capable of shaving myself, you know," John says, when Harold starts lathering John's face and throat.

"Obviously not," Harold says, giving him a pointed look. Fine, so maybe John had other things to worry about than the stubble on his chin. 

John leans back against the cool tile. He's still thrumming with pent-up energy from the last few days, and what he really wants is to slide to his knees and suck Harold's cock, or to get fucked against the wall of the shower. Still, he can wait another few minutes while Harold fusses over him. 

"Are you making sure you're not going to get beard burn?" John asks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Harold glares at him, as if he finds the expression unsuitable. "Hold still," he says, sliding the razor along the side of John's face. John's breath rushes out of his chest at the first touch of the blade against his skin. Harold looks at him, eyes startlingly intense without his glasses, his hair wet and flat on the top of his head. God, John wants to touch him.

"Harold," John says, a little strained. 

"Is something the matter, John?" Harold asks. He turns John's head to the side, letting the razor smooth down his skin in even, slow movements. 

John swallows. "You could have done this after," he says. His voice sounds hoarse. John carefully shifts his weight, his cock throbbing insistently between his legs.

"After what, John?" Harold asks innocently. He turns on the shower to clean out the blade. "Is there something you'd rather do?"

John bites his lip. He probably could get Harold to fuck him if he asked: Harold would sigh and put away the razor and push John against the wall and have him right there. Still, John knows how good it will be if Harold makes him wait, gets him wound up and desperate and nearly sobbing with relief when he finally gets to come.

"No, I'm fine," John says, although his cock is hard and dripping precome between his legs, every accidental brush of Harold's body against John's skin making him shiver. 

Harold smiles. "Hmh, that's what I thought. Tip your head back, my dear," he says, his thumb resting under John's jaw. John takes a shaky breath and bares his throat.

It should trigger his instincts in the worst possible way, exposing himself, letting someone hold a blade to his skin, but this is _Harold_ , and Harold would never hurt him. John lets his eyes flutter shut. Harold takes a step forward so that John's erection is sliding against his thigh, and John gasps. He has a little trouble staying upright with how wobbly his knees feel.

Harold carefully finishes shaving John's throat and chin. The air tingles his freshly exposed skin, and John makes a little whimpering sound when Harold reaches for the shaving cream again.

"Not done, hm?" John asks, grimacing.

Harold leans in to kiss him, sweet and relentless. "Not nearly, John," he says. 

John groans when Harold spreads shaving cream over his chest and calmly goes to work, shaving his skin while humming softly to himself. John tries to concentrate on anything but Harold's hands on him, the slick feeling of the razor sliding over sensitive skin. Harold's hand grazes a nipple and John's cock jerks with the sharp spike of pleasure. "Fuck," he mutters, letting his head sink back against the tile, eyes half-lidded. He's panting as if he just finished his morning run. 

"I didn't quite catch that," Harold says, raising an eyebrow. The smile is still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Nevermind," John says through gritted teeth. He only barely resists the temptation to hump Harold's naked leg. Harold is erect, too, but doesn't seem to mind at all. He lets the razor slide over the last bit of skin still covered with shaving cream and John holds his breath. His whole upper body feels sensitized, and he can't wait for Harold to put his hands on him for real.  
"Well done," Harold says, his voice full of warmth and appreciation. John lets his eyes fall shut again, pleased. "Now spread your legs for me."

Oh, thank god. John obeys, waiting for the touch of Harold's hand on him. The next thing he feels is the slick feeling of shaving cream on his skin, Harold's clever hands spreading it between John's legs. John whines, opening his eyes.

"Shh, you've been doing so well, dear," Harold says. 

John feels like he's going to go blind if he doesn't come. Harold takes the razor and starts working, his left hand lightly covering John's cock, occasionally moving it out of the way. John is scrambling for purchase on the slick tile, not bothering to keep quiet.  
"Harold, please, fuck," he babbles, the touch of Harold's hand almost enough to take him over the edge.

Harold doesn't look up from his work, shaving off John's pubic hair with a steady hand. "One day we'll have to find out what it takes for you to come completely untouched," he muses.

"Nngh," John says. He is desperately close and hearing Harold's voice doesn't _help_. 

"Another time, maybe," Harold says. He tilts his head to look at his handiwork before putting away the razor and turning the shower back on, testing the temperature against his wrist.

John wants to say something to hurry him along, but all that comes out are helpless noises. Harold cleans the rest of the shaving cream off him under the spray. John's skin is extra sensitive under Harold's touch, and John bites down on his own lip, trying to distract himself. 

"You should really take care to shave regularly, or I might have to," Harold chides, stepping closer.

John is beyond self-control: his hips push up on their own accord, rutting against Harold's leg. "Please, Harold, _please_ ," he begs, and Harold looks at him very seriously and says: "Yes, of course, John, I apologize for making you wait."

Then Harold reaches down to close his hand around John's cock and John's knees nearly give in after all: a few strokes of Harold's hand and he's whimpering and coming hard enough that it makes his whole body shake. 

Harold takes him to bed, after, fingering him open and then fucking him slowly, luxuriously, while John makes a string of helpless noises with his face buried in the sheets. Harold makes him come like that, and John fists his hands into the sheets and lets himself sink into it. 

"My very good boy," Harold says against John's neck, kissing his skin, and then he shudders and stills inside John, spilling into the condom. 

John is still lightheaded with the force of his orgasm, but he manages a chuckle. "Yeah, I'm never shaving again."

Harold kisses the nape of his neck in response.


End file.
